


A Compilation of My Writing Exercises

by redborg



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-21 13:12:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redborg/pseuds/redborg
Summary: Descriptions of characters, descriptions of interactions, descriptions of scenes, trying to nail down a plot, character development. All of it. Sometimes with prompts. Perhaps with cameos from movies/books/games. Different genres. Possibly some crack.





	1. Chapter 1

The rain had drizzled yesterday, light as feathers upon the silent inhabitants of the village as they traipsed about, doing their work. Today, it was pouring down like bullets. The clouds overhead were grey, the townspeople's faces were grey, and the colour seemed to be washed away as the rain sluiced the flowerbeds and the grass.

Jane's red wellies were very visible through the downpour. As she sloshed around in the muddy puddles with shrieks of laughter, an elderly man leaned on his cane a little bit away from her. His startlingly blue eyes filled with affection and adoration as they gazed at her. The large hat atop his head didn't prevent the drops of water from matting his grey hair across his broad forehead.

"C'mon, Jane," he called out at last in a lilting Irish accent. "Your da' is not going to be happy."

At once the joy drained out of the girl's frame. She slouched, a dark look crossing across her features. The look she sent him - reproachful, unhappy, irritated - was not at all characteristic of her age or her personality. A smile twisted his lips.

"Please, Grandpa," she pleaded. "A few more minutes?"

"I'm sorry, love," he responded with a frown. Jane noticed the genuine regret in his voice and gave him a weak smile.

"What did you think of the bakery?" she asked, sloshing through the puddles to get to him. He grinned fondly at the smudged dirt around her trousers. "It's new, isn't it? What was there before the bakery? Did your school have a tuck shop like ours does when you were in Ireland? Did Dad? And Grandma? I can't imagine her having sweets."

She stared up with eager brown eyes as he replied to her questions with a chuckle. His calloused brown fingers intertwined with her soft ones, enclosing her little hand with his, and they trekked away into the mist.


	2. Chapter 2

His first day off in ages crept up on him like it always did, the entire week spent hurrying around the office and scribbling down memos and responding to email after email. Crashing on the sofa of his quiet house, Jeremy felt the absence of his partner beside him as keenly as ever. He tried to remember the last time he'd seen Anna, something ridiculously like panic curling in his chest. Everything - the entire week - was a haze to him. Time lost to the mundane.

Yesterday, Jeremy thought. Ah yes, there had been a kiss smudged against her lips with the scent of her spicy perfume swirling around him like a comforting embrace, before the two had departed - she'd left to teach her kids at the school.

When was the last time he'd really seen her? When had the two spent an actual relaxing evening together?

Much to the man's horror, no memory surfaced. He screwed his eyes shut; he racked through the last week, last month, last year. Nothing came up.

"I've got to do something about that," he murmured to himself, his quiet voice the only sound in the room. The television screen in front of him was blank. He stared at his reflection. He frowned.

Jeremy's eyes strayed towards the clock, its hands moving soundlessly. It was not even afternoon. Remembering the faulty tap in the bathroom, he stood up. There was nothing else to do, and he had been unable to get at it for ages due to the work in the office. Things had calmed down lately. Thoughts of how he could surprise his wife in the upcoming holiday at her school whirled around his head, lending a spring to his feet.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by On the Black Hill by Bruce Chatwin. Written on 10/11/2018.


End file.
